there's always the half-question of who, really, you’re
fighting with, under the covers, and why. the question of
why the hell you are even trying. whose is the face
dug into shadow and blu-tacked to a map on the wall, cherry
pits for eyes and a jaw of vinegar, of china, of air.
gutless. sick to death (without the pealing of bells because,
damn, you’ve got nothing to show for it) of being
cold and empty and grey, building a fortress to
fill with things that burn as easily as paper petals,
things like his hair, things like her silence, fingers
caked in mortar and gold. full up –with what?
the pack-of-wolves hunger and the nicotine
gouged from the cracks in your skin. full up
from what got left behind when the army retreated
and what was never even made to begin with. acrobat,
fuck some boy in some room somewhere with the lights
left on and laugh at the bruises, the bite marks, the next
day when you wake up to hear the finches sing, mouth a
little ring of wonder at the permanence of choice. oh, i
would write so many things if i knew where to begin.
for instance, i could tell you that what it comes down
to (and even my therapist doesn’t know this, although i
suppose god might, but he doesn’t really pay attention,
anyway) is that i miss all sorts of different people in a
hundred different ways, or that, in the hospital, the disease
is everywhere, in your underwear drawer and in the
canyons between the cushions on the sofas, and they
unpack you on thursdays like a jigsaw, pop your shoulders
out of their sockets, wedge your sternum into your throat
and expect you to swallow. you, however, are historical. i
could write you a bible with all these escape strategies, with all
this sympathy for drunk girls riding the crests of waves startled
out of salty dreams by beautiful, blurry boys; i could write you
a postcard in code and seal it with a kiss that still stank of
someone else. i'd write to you about the fear and all the goddamn
reminders that litter my streets, but it would be far too honest
and exposing and not quite metaphorical enough. besides, i
am not sorry enough to hit you in the face with an apology.
not yet.
these days, increasingly, we find ourselves flattening our backs
against the doors of places we never wanted to visit, spilling,
pattering, unwanted coppers on the frowning slabs that they lock
inside libraries, giddy but insisting on stalking the pavement
like a tightrope, cigarette in one hand, tiny bag of furious
brown sky dangling from the smallest knuckle of the
other, creeping into the lungs when it gets a spare moment.
left to my own devices with a globe or a spaceship i'd stick
pins at the edges of far off countries and stop eating for
long enough to slither through the borders and get to somewhere
the ghost of you and this and that and us (and us) couldn’t follow.
there would be no love, no pale imitation of the messiah trying,
first with sobbing and then with sticks, to drag you along his
own forsaken road. there would be only rough hands with nothing
but folds of eager skin to rub together, only the tongue of a
blind man to keep the darkness away. you’d use all your energy
painting puppets on the moon, close the curtains like the lids of his
eyes. you are a mermaid chafing away the dead load of cartoon clouds and
i will love you forever, but i will not wait.
Author notes
well i've been complaining that i haven't been able to write and now that i've actually written something i feel sort of like it was a bit of an anti-climax.
haha.
i want to stop feeling so angry. i don't know how.
A contest entry
- you are a little bit happier than i am (prose) by Diseased Mind.
400 points, ended April 16, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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you seriously blow me away, but in a punchier, hard, forceful way.
I'm astounded by all the things you write. even when I've already read it before. multiple times.
you speak so much truth and it's always so jam-packed with emotion and things bursting through the seams.
you are a writer. please never stop. -
"they
unpack you on thursdays like a jigsaw, pop your shoulders
out of their sockets, wedge your sternum into your throat
and expect you to swallow."
this was the little pocket of your poem that made my jaw drop then never get back up. these lines made me go wow over and over again as i continued reading your poem.
HOLY FYCCKINAGLKSJDFAOISDF AOJDF AODUFAISDJFAL
yeah, so that's basically how i feel about this poem. (and no, it's not an anagram...) this is SO good and SO in your face BAM!. i'm pretty sure i'm in love. like, love love.
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a very interesting journey...seems like yesterday you were only 13...now you're 16? Where does the time effing fly? I read this as a prose poem...was that right? It's full of unique phrases, details that pervade the senses and all those hidden nooks and crannies of our frailities; the nakedness of who we are...love the no-apologies attitude of you, it works very well with the slightly crazed, off-kilter language you choose to use and that coupled with a varied imagination. It does however, seem to concentrate on certain whims that I suppose we could argue are superfluous. But we won't do that.
Cos' it's boring...heh.
All in all I'd say despite your response to having had a block and it being an anti-climax, this was an enthralling and unusual read, with lots of points to discuss, unfortunately I just don't have time now...haha...the wife is booting me off the comp!
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I am so, so glad that I read this.
I've been having an awful day and just reading this makes me grateful because it makes me realize that there is still talent, there is still feeling somewhere.
this has been the best thing I've read in a long time. I've missed your amazing style, and this expresses such emotion and tension. it's so honest.
I'm going to bookmark it because I could read this five times over. there's no one section to remember, it's all so good.
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"cherry / pits for eyes and a jaw of vinegar, of china, of air." it starts out so raw and angry, then disintegrates into nothing. clever. offbeat. I like it.
"i miss all sorts of different people in a / hundred different ways," that is me. perfectly.
"startled / out of salty dreams by beautiful, blurry boys;" love those lines. they stand out so much . and you've put into words what I've wanted to describe for about a month now. thanks. <3
basically: THIS IS INCREDIBLE. and right now I feel bad with words so I just put it in all caps in the hopes that you realise just how much I love this poem.
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"i will love you forever, but i will not wait" ... ahhh goddd that strikes a chord... eeh... i'm quoting on my profile hope you don't mind
loveeyou baby, miss youxx -
You are very talented, I can see that quite evidently by this work you have penned here. Strong, raw emotions coupled with vivid imagery gives the reader something incredible to read and you did very well in writing this.
Great work -
This is beautiful. i understand. i love you.x
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oh god. i keep coming back to this and reading it over and over again. i keep looking at that last line and it kills me.
this is so much beauty, it scrapes me raw and leaves me wanting to be this way forever, open and open and never be happy again because somehow there's always more and happy is overrated once the innocence is flushed.
i don't know if i could pick anything. the last line, yes that is what got into me in a way i didn't think words could anymore. but the rest, all of it, it's what i wished i could say but never knew. that doesn't make sense.
i wish i could still feel angry. i would give my left kidney for the anger to fill me up just so i wouldn't have to be alone. and at the same time, i'm so angry i'm numb. i guess i wish i had an anger that i could understand.
i'm in love with this. i just want you to know.
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thank you so much
thank you thank you
it means a lot that you've taken the time to write such a heartfelt comment. so thank you.
have fun judging the contest
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"oh, i
would write so many things if i knew where to begin."
you & me both kid.
i think while i was reading this, i felt the sudden urge to sigh and just wish i could tell you that it's a strange reliefe that i found someone who really does think like me. i mean i know we probably don't think exactly alike but i feel like this poem exhumes all sorts of things i KNOW i've thought of but never could write about. the brave tension in every word is amazing and i know you are going to win this one without a doubt. she loves this sort of stuff as well as i do, it's more of a reality than anything and it hurts but to know about it feels infinite. and you know mine are always missing a climax as well but i don't really see a need for one... it feels like it could go on and on forever but always make you feel different each time and that's not a bad thing, in fact.. that's so fucking special and you have no idea how wonderful you are as a poet hun. sorry i am rambling but i've really missed your insightful thoughts and it's truly an honor to be reading you again. please come by more often <3
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..i think that's the nicest, loveliest thing i've heard in a long time
thank you <3
you're wonderful
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